


When You're Lost, I'll Find You

by Port_of_Morrow



Category: James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2368784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Port_of_Morrow/pseuds/Port_of_Morrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When James returns from being lost, Q learns things. He learns that there's a difference between resting and sleeping, between being with someone and living with someone, and the difference between 007 and just James.</p><p>Sometimes it's about playing with the space between people, sometimes it's about wishing for it to go away, and sometimes it's about closing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was no surprise to the quartermaster of MI6 that being in a relationship with one of Britain’s deadliest weapons was no easy feat. James was absolutely maddening for many a reason; from his hopeless memory of basic facts such as birthdays, shopping lists and general domestic hygiene principles to his tendency for eating absolutely everything in Q’s fridge at any given point. But there were other things about dating James Bond that were difficult - things beyond the moody attitudes and inappropriate flirtatiousness… things like the life or death situations. Things like Q finding out that James was about to be flown out to a warzone or into the arms of a terrorist group. Things a lot like James being on a mission and falling right off the grid, like he was now. 

No communication. No little red dot. No sign of life.

Nothing.

James falling off the grid made Q feel physically sick, and he hated that there was nothing he could do about it. He’d been off for two hours now. Two hours that had felt like two decades of not seeing that little blinking light which seemed to say, “Hey, I’m still here, Q. Hang in there.”

Q sat back in his chair feeling utterly defeated. He’d done everything he could possibly do, but now the situation was out of his hands and was up to the big dogs - M, and comms, and all of them, who were attempting every possibility to find out where on this planet James was.

“Um, Q,” a voice spoke from the doorwary. Q looked up, it was just one of his employees.  
“I’m going to head home now… it’s late and erm, I don’t think there’s much more we can do…”

“It’s fine,” Q checked the time. 00.39am. “Go home, it is late,” he waved her away, before letting out a deep sigh. He should go home himself. He should realise that the situation was out of his hands and nothing would come of him sitting in his office all night rather than getting a few hours’ sleep. 

But the truth was, Q couldn’t go home, and he knew it. As he fiddled with a broken pencil on his desk, he contemplated how much he hated this part of the job.

He decided several minutes later that he would go absolutely stir crazy if he sat in this empty office for very much longer. He remembered he hadn’t eaten (a frequent occurrence when working too hard) so quickly packed up his things and headed out for a takeaway dinner.

On his arrival back in the lobby, he passed a comms officer who looked suddenly very eager to see him.

“Q, he’s back!”

“Back on the grid?” Q gaped, suddenly quite awake.

“Well, not exactly,” the comms officer said as he made his way back to the branch. Q followed him. 

“Interpol’s just contacted us. They found 007 in a bit of a tangle at airport security in Valetta and managed to get him on a plane straight back to London. They’re bloody livid…”

“I can imagine,” Q sighed, “How long ago?”

The officer checked his watch as they entered the branch, “They’d be taking off now, actually. He’ll be back so soon… I can’t believe it.”

“Good god,” Q sighed. The branch was right havoc upon Q’s arrival. Several Interpol officers had arrived and looked frankly wrathful, in heated conversation with Andy, the branch leader. Q would imagine that the French secret services would be less than happy having used their resources and time to deal with a British agent who’s own secret service clearly couldn’t keep track of. Several comms officers were furiously tapping away at their computers, trying to get some sort of transport sorted out for the rescue they’d deployed to Malta just hours ago, whilst Sam from international relations was speaking in tremendously fast Maltese to the country’s authorities, trying to let them know that the search for Britain’s missing agent was off.

Q found a relatively quiet corner to sit in and inhale his dinner. Some people couldn’t eat under stress. Q couldn’t seem to do anything but, and once finished with his dinner, managed to clear out comms’s department biscuit tin. Everyone seemed to preoccupied to care, much.

Ridden with exhaustion, having been up too early this morning, Q slumped down in an office chair and watched London pass by outside through the vast floor-to-ceiling window. Well after 1am and the cars were still racing, streetlights still burning, boats still making their way down the glassy black Thames. London were still moving on with their little lives - pottering about, driving, eating, sleeping, shagging - as if nothing was going on in the world. Nothing really. Q breathed deeply, allowing his tiredness to finally take over.


	2. Chapter 2

Q wasn’t sure exactly at what point he fell asleep, but by the time he awoke, groggy and glasses askew, the comms branch was significantly emptier. Andy still sat at her desk, of course, and was accompanied by two interns who looked less than happy to still be here at - god, - 4.30am.   
Q arose and made a futile attempt to work out the pain in his shoulders from sleeping so unsoundly. Sleep weighed heavy on his eyes and his neck as he shuffled over to Andy’s desk at the back of the room.

“We’ve got clear comms with 007,” Andy said in a tone that would’ve sounded hopeful if she weren’t so sleep deprived.

Q blinked his eyes owlishly, taking in the information. “Great, yeah,”

“Mm, Interpol’s got him hooked up to a radio. He’s still flying, quality’s not great but we’ve managed to have a chat. He’s fine, really. Not unscratched, but alive.”

Q swallowed hard, hating the idea that James could be anything but.

“So, er, can I get through to him in Q-Branch?”

“Well, yeah,” Andy started, “But you really don’t need to-”

“I know, I know,” Q sighed, before thanking Andy and making his way quite briskly back down the hall.

It didn’t take long for Q to fire up his computer and log through to the comms.

“James Ja- 007…” Q corrected himself. Half asleep he’d nearly forgotten that his conversation would obviously be logged by both Interpol and MI6, probably.

“007, can you hear me?” Q said into empty static. He sighed defeatedly, before a harsh burst of static grated against his ears. The sound was quickly replaced by a far more welcome one, however.

“Yeah, Q, I can hear you,” James deep London accent sounded down the wire.

“Oh my god,” Q breathed in relief. He hooked up James to his earpiece and stepped over to make a cup of coffee.

“007, when you fell off the grid we-”

“I know, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my fault,”

“We know it wasn’t,” Q quickly spoke back. He liked listening to James using this voice - his real voice - rough and laden with the tones of the South London intonation, not the heightened R.P accent he’d usually put on at work or over comms, to accommodate to the high-flying upper-class agent everyone expected him to be.

“Okay,” James said back, “Sorry, Q, I’m exhausted. And I suppose they’re -”

“Logging the conversation… yeah,” Q spoke as he sat back down in his office chair.

“You’ve stayed at work all night then?” James asked.

Q made a sound of affirmation.

“You really didn’t have to.” If Q had a penny for every time someone had said that to him tonight…

“You know I wouldn’t be able to sleep with you off the grid. It’s ... important to me that you’re okay,” Q chose his words diplomatically.

Silence lay between them for a moment, interrupted only by James’ deep, steady breathing. And at that point, Q could almost feel James. He could feel James not having had someone who’d cared about him in a long time.

“I’m going to be home, um, in London, really soon.”

Q laughed lightly, “Okay, Bond.”

But inside, Q hated calling James by his surname like everyone at work did.

“We’re going to start landing soon, I should go.”

“I’ll be here when you arrive… I may as well stay” Q said quietly, clinging his tea cup close to his chest subconsciously.

He heard James take a deep breath.

“Love you, Q.”

Q inhaled sharply. Oh, what the hell.

“I love you too, James.”

And then Q’s ears were filled with static. Alone, again, but not really. Not this time.


	3. Chapter 3

From then it was only a matter of time until James would be ferried back from the airport to headquarters. After downing his tea and another cup of coffee, Q found that his bout of tiredness had passed and he managed to get on with a few menial tasks until James would return.

 

Upon his arrival he’d probably be subjected to a brief medical check with the medics who seemed to always be here, but considering M wasn’t in the office and Q branch wasn’t supposed to be, James would be free to go for the best part of 24 hours, Q would imagine.

 

As the sky outside began to lighten an hour later, Q received a message alert on his mobile that 007 had been administered into the building. Q made haste in packing up his computer and swinging his coat over his shoulder. He switched off the lights in the branch before locking up, knowing that his minions would probably be arriving for work in a couple of hours or so. He imagined James would’ve been sent straight to medical, so Q quickly climbed a flight of stairs up to the clinic.

 

Through the glass door he made out James talking to one of the medics. Q breathed in slowly. James looked dishevelled and worn out, dressed in a pair of black jeans with a winter jacket thrown over himself. A pang shot through Q as James turned a little, revealing his left arm bound and held in a makeshift sling; a dull red seeping through the bandage near his elbow.

 

Q opened the door quietly and stood in the doorway. James noticed him a minute later. His face looked tired beyond belief, but a warm, genuine smile broke through the exhaustion when he caught sight of Q.

 

“Good morning 007,” Q nodded as he approached the pair.

 

“Good morning, Q,” James smiled. He licked his lower lip. Q rolled his eyes.

 

The medic didn’t seem to pick up on anything and proceeded to talk to James.

 

“We need to conduct a brief physical exam, take care of that arm - then take a sample for a drug test, and then you’re free to go. We’ll conduct full physical tests over the next few days. This should only take 25 minutes.”

 

James glanced at Q.

 

“I’ll wait,” he said simply.

 

The medic lead James towards an exam room, “I didn’t think agents had to suffer the onslaught of Q-Branch so immediately,”

 

James laughed.  
  
“007’s an exception,” Q said with a smile, before taking a seat in the clinic and waiting.

 

The medical checks seemed to be over sooner than expected, much to Q’s happiness. Twenty or so minutes later, the medic ushered James from the exam room with a brief, “Take care of that arm,” before closing the door behind him.

 

And then, Q and James were finally alone in the same room with no one logging their conversation.

 

James stepped over to Q quickly and locked his right arm around Q’s shoulder tightly, embracing the younger man’s slight figure against his own. Q could feel James’s heartbeat, and felt his own pick up as he felt James - alive and warm, here with him.

 

“Missed you so much,” Q whispered as he tightened his own arms around James, holding his body as close as physically possible, but taking care not to put too much pressure on James’s broken arm that hung, limp, between them.

 

James sighed, angling his head to kiss the side of Q’s neck.

 

Q got lost in him. He smelt of sweat and gunpowder and chemical detergent, but Q really didn’t care a bit.

 

“Do you want to stay at mine tonight?” Q sighed as they parted a little, though James still kept his strong arm laced around Q’s shoulder.

  
“I’d prefer we went back to mine, rather, if that’s okay?”

 

Q was about to point out that his place was about ninety percent closer to the office than James’, but the sight of the ragged, tired agent made him refrain. Q didn’t know a lot about PTSD, but he imagined that returning home after a stressful experience was usually not a bad idea. The post-traumatic was something that James never really spoke about, but it was there, in the nightmares he’d get in the following weeks, the way he’d be so on edge, getting startled by something as small as the microwave beeping. The typical symptoms were present, and he worked out that James’s flat was his familiar safe space the moment that the agent got horribly defensive at Q’s mere suggestion that he move the furniture in his living room about a bit, to open up the space.

 

“Okay,” Q said, pressing the pad of his thumb over a new cut on James’s jaw. He gathered his things and they made their way out of the building into the sharp early morning air. They managed to hail one of the few cabs that were running at this hour.

 

Once inside the car, James rested his head on Q’s shoulder and fluttered his eyes closed. He stayed like that for the rest of the journey.

  
Q knew James wasn’t asleep. He knew that when James slept his breathing would run deep and steady, his chest would heave up and down and he had a habit of tucking his right foot under his left. Besides, any movement would undoubtedly keep James awake. No, this was him just resting, just breathing. Q moved his left hand to James’s temple, pushing a lock of short blond hair back from his forehead. He idly ran his fingertips through James’s hair before holding his hand on the older man’s shoulder.

 

James breathed out slowly before pressing the palm of his hand to Q’s knee, rubbing it gently, moving it to the fabric covering his inner thigh.

 

“Alright, you,” Q whispered, blushing gently.

 

They shortly arrived at James’s terraced house. The agent gave a small yawn, sitting up straight with a stretch. Q paid the driver before he and James made their way out into the increasing daylight.

 

“You don’t have to go to work later do you?” James grimaced as Q unlocked the agent’s door with the spare key he kept on him.

  
“Not planning to,” Q said, smiling tiredly as he entered the wonderfully familiar house. “I might go in for a couple of hours this afternoon, but I’ve racked up enough extra hours to take most of the day off.”

 

James swallowed hard as he stepped onto the creaking wooden floor. He turned and slowly closed the door behind him. “Good, I was hoping you could stay for a bit,” James said quietly as he slowly removed his coat, taking care with his broken arm. He stood still for a moment, stroking the sleeve of it, paying no attention to anything, really. His eyes looked a little lost. It didn’t take a genius like Q to pick up on the moments when James felt vulnerable.

 

“How about a bath?” Q said, placing his coat next to James’s, breaking the agent from his trance.

 

“Sounds lovely,” James said, distracted. He shuffled into the kitchen and shivered. Q sighed at James’s total inability to take care of himself properly, and after drawing a bath he collected a hoodie from James’s bedroom and placed it on the counter next to the agent, careful not to startle him.

 

“Thank you, Q,” James said quietly, placing his strong hand on Q’s shoulder and turning his body a little to face him. James just looked at him, not touching him.

 

“What?”

 

James seemed to have been on another planet again, for a minute.

 

“Nothing, I… I just get, after missions it’s hard to, er…”

 

“It’s called PTSD, James,” Q said reassuringly, if that was even possible.

 

James stayed silent for a moment. “I don’t want you to think… because I know I haven’t seen you in two weeks and even before that we didn’t… not very often, you know, erm-”

 

“It’s fine James,” Q sighed, reaching out a hand to stroke down James’s forearm. He wasn’t going to initiate anything, not tonight. James’s vulnerability showed through in situations like this. He was beautiful and unpredictable, and Q knew more than anything that he needed to be patient with James when he was in this state.

 

It was peculiar, though, Q observed, outside this house he was 007 - he’d lick his lips suggestively and feel Q up and make all kinds of remarks, but as soon as he set foot in his house, he was James. He wasn’t an agent, he was just a man who’d been through more unbearable stress and anxiety than anyone should have to.

 

“Come on, your bath will be nearly done.”

 

They walked through to the old rustic bathroom. Q noticed a small photograph tucked in the edge of the bathroom mirror he hadn’t seen before. He looked at it closer, recognising his and James’s faces. It was a snap James had taken when they’d gone up to Edinburgh for a weekend last year. Q’s face was unshaven and he was wearing his horrible spare glasses; the brown ones with the pointed rims that he hated but James thought were endearing and made him look like a French lost-soul poet.

 

“Oh, that,” James smiled a little as he made an attempt at unbuttoning his shirt with a single hand, noticing Q studying the photo.

 

“Didn’t know you had this,” the quartermaster said. It was no surprise that James didn’t have any evidence of he and Q’s relationship anywhere in his house. It was after all, an old family home, and he had people visiting from time to time who James would be less than comfortable knowing aspects of his private life.

 

“I love you in that one,” James said, pressing his free hand to the radiator to steady himself, “You look all happy… and sweet,”

 

“I’m always happy and sweet,” Q smirked, meeting James’s eyes in the mirror.

 

“Well, I love you all the time, then,” James said as he focused his eyes on Q’s through the mirror.

 

“It’s a good thing I’m mad about you too,” Q said quietly, moving his eyes from James and turning around.

 

James raised his eyebrows, “Even when I’m a grumpy, tired old bastard with P...S...D… whatever it is…”

 

“Especially then,” Q laughed. “Now come on, let’s get this off,” he mumbled as he stepped over to James and took over the arduous task of unbuttoning a shirt. He unclipped the new sling that medical had kitted James out with. James winced as Q eased his arm down.

 

“Sorry,” Q apologised, as he stepped to the side of James and managed to ease his shirt from his body. An adhesive bandage had been applied to the skin around James’s elbow. Q ran his fingers over it.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

“Not really… not anymore,” James sighed, as he managed to get himself out of his shoes and trousers.

 

He climbed into the hot, soapy water, exhaling deeply as he sunk down into it.

 

“Thank you,” James hummed, turning to face Q who’d knelt down by the rim of the bath. “Sorry for being such a useless old oaf, Q.”

 

“Shut up, I literally get paid to make sure you stay alive.”

 

“Not like this,”

 

“No,” Q agreed, “Undressing gorgeous agents twice my age is just a perk of the job,”

 

“Not twice,” James chuckled.

 

They laughed together. James rocked his head back and closed his eyes as he slowly lowered his arm into the steaming water.

 

Q glanced at the clock by the radiator, showing 7.56am. It was winter so the daylight hadn’t quite established itself yet, but it was certainly brightening. As Q noticed this, the realisation hit him that he hadn’t really slept properly in over 26 hours, and he felt another wave of tiredness hit him.

 

“Mind if I get some sleep, James, I’m exhausted.”

 

“‘Yeah, of course, me too” James exhaled. “I’ll just wash up and join you in a minute.”

 

“Okay,” Q said, leaning forward and leaving a kiss on James’s temple. He made his way into James’s bedroom which was thankfully quite dark due to the thick Victorian curtains blocking out the sunshine. Q knelt down to the shelf in the antique chest of drawers in which James had let him keep his things, and pulled out a pair of pyjamas and his old university sweatshirt which was tremendously warm. He dove under the covers of James’s bed and checked a few messages on his phone.

 

James stepped in several minutes later, with a towel wrapped around him. He let it fall and threw a pair of boxers and a pair of socks on, and climbed into bed with Q.

 

“Told you I don’t like you wearing that sweatshirt,” he grumbled as he tangled his legs with Q’s, shuffling closer to him.

 

“And why is that?” Q raised an eyebrow, rubbing his cold feet against James’s warmer ones, “Can’t stand the fact that I’m more educated than you?”

 

“Hmm, more to do with this,” James stroked his thumb over the text that read “Class of 2006,”

 

“Can’t stand that I’m too old for you,”

 

“Oh shut it,” Q snapped, moving his hand to James’s broken arm, running his palm up the length of it.

 

James moved his feet against Q’s ankles as a warmth spread through his arm; a little to do with the hot bath he’d just had, but more to do with his quartermaster’s hand stroking against it, his short nails scraping gently against James’s bruised skin, his fingertips moving sensitively over the gash running the underside of his arm, now he’d removed the bandage

 

“I need to pay you back for the cab ride. How much’d it come to?”

 

Q shuffled several inches closer to James. The agent moved his free hand to Q’s shoulder, rubbing out the tension with his thumb.

 

“Er, just over twenty quid. Blimey,” Q sighed, “This place is lovely but it’s a million miles from work.”

 

James was quiet for a moment.

 

“I was thinking about that actually, on the flight home. Thinking about moving.”

 

“Really?” Q asked. He hadn’t expected that - he’d never expected James to leave this place.

 

“But… this was your family’s city place. I mean… it’s ancient…”

 

“Meaning it’ll get me a fair price… for, you know… somewhere smaller but much more central…” James swallowed a lump in his throat, “Somewhere for us.”

 

Q’s heart suddenly skipped a beat.

 

“Would you like that?”

 

“M.. my god… yeah,” Q said, eyes suddenly blown wide open. James’s were sleepy, but still focused.

 

“You really don’t have to do this…”

 

“I know I don’t,” the agent sighed, “But I want to. I’m tired of this… you having a key to my house… waking up far too often without you here.”

 

“This is your safe place, James … it’s home,” Q pointed out.

 

“No it isn’t,” James spoke softly, “You are.”

 

Q swallowed back a lump in his throat, left speechless.

 

“Think it over, hmm?” James said.

 

“I don’t have to,” Q said firmly, finding his voice again. “You drive me totally round the bend but you know I adore you…”

 

“Round the bend?” James chuckled.

 

“Oh, completely,” Q said, jutting his chin out “Absolutely raving mad,”

 

“Anything else?” James smiled, moving forward an inch. His breath was hot against Q’s face.

 

“You’ll have to deal with me waking up at six pretty much every morning,”

 

“Mm?” James said, resting his lips on the edge of Q’s mouth.

 

“And on the weekends I usually just walk around in just a sweatshirt,”

 

“However will I manage…” James sighed sleepily before pressing a kiss to the corner of Q’s mouth.

 

Q fell silent. James kissed him again, but properly this time, and so slowly.

 

He smiled and kissed James back, letting go of everything he’d been holding onto for the past two weeks.

 

“I’m excited for this,” James breathed against Q’s lips.

 

“Yeah, me too,” Q laughed gently.

 

And right then, their sanctuary was pierced by Q’s ring tone that sounded like a bomb exploding in their quietness.

 

“Oh fuck off,” Q groaned, reaching over and rejecting the call from one of his employees. “That’s going off,” he mumbled, shutting down his phone and tossing it onto the pile of his clothes by the dresser.

 

He returned to James.

 

“How the hell am I going to put up with you…” the blond grumbled.

 

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Q laughed, and James kissed him again.

 

“I want to stay here all day,” Q closed his eyes, pulling the duvet up around his shoulders.

 

“That is totally and completely achievable, my dearest,” James said quietly, before allowing his eyelids to drop, and resting himself completely.

 

Q watched for a moment as James fell asleep, really asleep, before quite quickly falling asleep himself.

 

**

  
  


Q awoke to an empty bed. He woke up groggily without the faintest clue what time it was. He waved his arm over the sheets where James had been laying. They were still warm. He climbed out of bed slowly, placing his glasses on before padding through slowly to the kitchen.

 

James stood by the sink, his silhouette perfectly outlined by the sunlight that lit him from behind. Q noticed he was fiddling with a piece of paper.

 

“What’s that?” Q said from the doorway.

 

James looked up suddenly.

 

“Oh, the photo, from the bathroom.”

 

“It’s beautiful,”

 

“Yeah,” James hummed, “I was thinking I could frame it or something. For our new place… make it a real home, you know?”

 

Q scoffed, “What the fuck have you done with 007?”

 

“He’ll be back sooner or later,” the blond chuckled, “But for now you’ll just have to put up with James.”

 

Q let out an almighty sigh.

 

“I think I can probably manage that.

 

The End.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic over the span of about five days and typed it up in one. For a college English student I am a notoriously terrible proofreader, so there are bound to be some grammatical problems or medical innaccuracies I have overlooked so please do let me know if there's anything I need to correct. Thanks for reading!


End file.
